THE AMERICAN TROUT. 25 
point may be left under the skin, or exposed, as the 
poacher pleases ; I prefer it covered. It should not 
penetrate the flesh. 
In the Marshpee I was using a single Iiook, keeping 
the bait well ahead of me, and creeping cautiously in 
the freezing water, watching the tiny float as it danced 
its merry course along, now borne swiftly over the rip- 
pling current, anon caught in an eddy and returning on 
its track, and then again resting motionless in some dark 
and quiet pool. It was scarcely visible beneath the dense 
shadows, and once in a while it would disappear from my 
straining sight ; then followed a sharp blow with my rod, 
a fierce tug, a short fight between fear, despair and cun- 
ning on the one side, and strength, energy and judgment 
on the other. The prey once hooked, and skill there 
was not ; it was a mere contention, of two brute forces, 
in which the weaker went to the basket. An exhibition 
of skill or tenderness would have resulted in an entangle- 
ment round the ^earest root, and the loss of fish, leader 
and hook. Still, there was excitement ; the situation 
was romantic, the narrow gorge, the deep and rapid 
stream, the closely matted trees and vines, the ever- 
changing surface of the current, which adds beauty to 
the tamest brook, all combined to lend enchantment 
to the scene. The fish were large and vigorous, fresh 
run from the sea, where they had, the Winter long, 
been a terror to the small fry, and early death to 
juicy and unsuspicious shell-fish. They fought fiercely 
for life and liberty, their homes and their household 
gods, and, alas ! two often successfully. The risk of 
their escape added to the interest of the occasion, and 
2 
